


I could kiss you

by TheInfamousFingersmith



Category: Johannes Cabal - Jonathan L. Howard
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2019-10-27 16:56:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17770652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInfamousFingersmith/pseuds/TheInfamousFingersmith
Summary: a prompt from tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh Horst I could kiss you!”

* * * 

It had been nothing more than a flippant exclamation of excitement. 

They had been puzzling through the case for hours. Horst knew full well he would never have solved it on his own. He wasn’t that clever. Not like Private Detective Leonie Barrow. And even though he knew it was a fluke, and his finding of the signet ring, the final key piece of evidence, was pure coincidence, it didn’t take the shine off those six harmless little words that fell from her mouth. 

Oh Horst I could kiss you

He had never given much thought to kissing Detective Barrow before. She was all quick wits and practicality, business first and pleasure, well, never. She didn’t seem to be the type to take much of an interest in such whimsical social flirtations as kissing. So he had thought it rude to impress his more intimately personable attempts at relations upon her, and it hadn’t bothered his brain since. 

That was, until that inadvertent little phrase. 

Now, sat in the warmth of the only honest, small pub in Sepulchre, sipping on celebratory brandies, it was the only thing he could think of. 

Detective Barrow was merrily chatting away about the day’s victory, and what it meant for their continuing success. But his ears were absent. He was all eyes, and they were forever focused upon the movement of her lips. 

Last orders were called. Detective Barrow said it was probably time to leave, and automatically the gentleman, Horst fetched her coat. 

He held it open for her, as she slipped her arms inside. Standing this close she suddenly appeared small to him. He felt himself looming over her. She turned about to leave but he filled the space. The air turned to syrup about them, each movement felt sticky slow. He dipped his head. She looked up but didn’t move. He felt himself descend upon her, his brain screaming at him that if he must do this, he must be slow, he must not be forceful. 

He was not forceful. He was as slow and soft as molasses. 

It was, perhaps, one of the most innocent and sweetest kisses of his life.*

They parted. Or rather, he backed away, feeling suddenly small again. 

Detective Barrow blinked, and then without missing a beat, continued in her previous talk about finger-printing, and needing to replace her ink pad. 

He followed her out, unsure if he were relieved or disappointed. 

* One of the sweetest. He felt the emphasis was important. There had been a number, and he didn’t care for favouritism.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another drabble prompt from tumblr.

Cabal didn’t kiss. Cabal didn’t even shake hands except when it was unavoidable under the most strained of social pressures. 

Kisses, Leonie had been raised to believe, came from places of sincere affection, or enflamed passions, neither of which Leonie believed Cabal capable of. As a student of psychology Leonie could understand the motivations behind such emotional reactions, but doubted Cabal would see any scientific reasoning behind such interpersonal activities, and no doubt dismerit any attempt to quantify them academically as having no more worth, or purpose in a school of learning than any of the other humanities*.

And so to say that his kiss was a surprise would be an understatement of rather cumbersome size.

They were arguing (this was normal). There were heated words (this was also normal). There was a tense pause while either side regathered it’s verbal counter attacks when Cabal made his markedly abnormal counteraction. 

He looked more surprised by the act than she did. It was a close call however, as both parties stared at each other with wide eyes as paling faces. 

“Miss Barrow, I…”

She stopped him talking by the efficient means of striking his mouth closed with the swift application of her open palm. 

His blue glasses were sent askew on his face, and he seemed so stunned by the violence of her reaction it took him a moment before he thought to right them. 

“I should have expected that,” he conceded. 

* * * 

* “humanities” it would be said with a sneer, as if the word itself left a bad taste in one’s mouth, an idea as palatable to the tongue as it was to the brain. “Poetry. Art. It’s all a load of finger painting nonsense designed to make distinctly untalented, unintelligent individuals feel special, and encourage the indulgence of the wealthy. It turns University into charity.”


	3. five times

I caught you sleeping. I don’t think I’d ever seen you at rest before. Your usual cross face, with deep set frown lines had faded. You looked so much younger. You looked peaceful. I could take in the features of your face at leisure. There was a pleasant symmetry to them I had not noticed before. But all the while I studied your face, I found myself missing the sharp blue of your eyes.

You were standing in the doorway, looking smug and trying not to act heroic as you boasted about a bomb you had set to blow up the ship. Your plan was ridiculous and deadly. But it didn’t matter. You had come back. 

You were always so careful about your appearance. The knot in your cravat always has to be just so. Your shoes are always a specific brand of Italian leather, and polished with military precision. But when we were traipsing through Headingly Cemetery, and I attempted a shortcut and lost my boot in the mud, you waded in up to your knees and fished it out. You thanked me for finding the Ossuary entrance so promptly and never once complained about the state of your trouser legs.

When you first called me by my given name. You were speaking German, and it was the only word I understood. You made it sound beautiful.

There have been many times when you have taken my hand. Mostly it was your gloved grip pulling me out of danger or out of sight. You always held me by necessity, with a firm hold and strong direction. But one day, as we walked through the city park, your hand brushed mine. It was an accidental naked touch. There was no one around. No need for the facade of friendship, or guidance to safety. When you took my hand that day, it was simply because you wanted to. Your grip was light, and warm. I think you were nervous, though you did not stop talking about the museum exhibition of Nitocris and her pyramid, you couldn’t look me in the eye. But you never let go of my hand.


	4. It's for science, I promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by this tumblr post:
> 
> https://ladridicuori.tumblr.com/post/183080560706/hey-hey-lemme-lay-on-your-tummy-its-for-science-i

Cabal checked his watch. It had been forty seven minutes since the tea had been drunk, and Miss Barrow had not slowed in her idle banter, or otherwise shown any vague symptom that might allude to any adverse side affects. She reached across the little table for the biscuit plate, and his eyes followed the action, focusing on her wrist. He should take her pulse, he realised, but how to perform that task without drawing suspicion? No, the colour in her cheeks was good, her eyes bright and alert. She was fine. Better than fine. Which was to say she was in textbook good health. His little additive to her drink had gone unnoticed and done her no harm. Excellent. He would look forward to writing up his notes on this later. 

“-of course if the candlesticks had been a perfect a match, then he never would have…am I talking to myself, Cabal?”

He thought he had been maintaining a convincing facade of polite interest as his mind logged results to be referenced later, but this was Miss Barrow, and he should have known better. Of course her clever eyes would have detected the faint glaze of his expression. He clicked his attention back into focus.

“I was visualising” he lied, “Candlesticks. Continue”

She gave him a firm lipped look, but continued her story. 

He continued to watch her with interest, not taking in a single word she was saying.

“Tunnock maintains that there’s grounds for reasonable doubt but I- What IS it, Cabal?”

He frowned, unsure what might have prompted her question. Her cheeks were pink as she glared at him. Was that an early sign of a fever?

“Frauline, are you feeling quite well?”

“What?”

“Might I take your temperature?”

“Cabal what has gotten into you?”

Her colour deepened. He felt a surge of rational concern. 

“Miss Barrow could you lay down, please? Upon the sofa preferably”

“Why?”

“Because I wish to examine you to ascertain if your body is rejecting the alechemica-”

“Oh my god. You’ve poisoned my tea.”

“It is not poison, Frauline, it is an experimental-”

“you’re EXPERIMENTING on me?”

“It has been tested-”

“On me?!”

“No. Yes. But you are not the first-”

“Do you attempt to poison all your acquaintances?”

“It is not poison”

“How do you know?”

“It is not designed to-”

“What IS it designed to do?”

“Will you please just lay down? It will only take me a matter of moments to examine you for any ill effects..”

“I’m not happy about this, Cabal”

“Obviously. Had I thought you might be, I would have asked permission...feet up, please”

Leonie moved cushions aside and, slipping off her shoes, laid back upon the sofa. Cabal performed a few precursory check, her temperature, her pulse…

As he released her wrist and knelt down beside her, she cuffed him smartly around the ear.  
His expression soured sharply at the strike, but he made no effort to retaliate. His conscious prickled in the knowledge that he really should have asked her permission before tinkering with her tea. He did throw her dangerous look of warning however, before lowering his head to her stomach.

“Cabal!” Leonie started, but he pushed her back down with a firm hand upon her shoulder, as his ear pressed to her belly.

“Quiet please, science at work”  
She scowled at him, but at least she did not strike him a second him. 

Leonie waited with as much patience as she could muster as Cabal listened to her insides at work, following the rise and fall of every breath she took. 

Seconds turned into minutes, and Leonie felt Cabal relax against her. She suddenly felt oddly self conscious. 

“… Will I live?” she asked at length when she began to seriously consider that he had fallen asleep upon her cushioned midriff. He visibly stiffened at the sound of her voice, and stood awkwardly, as if embarrassed.

“You are perfectly well” he confirmed. “Your body has absorbed the vitamin infusion as expected”  
“Vitamins?” Leonie looked confused. Cabal nodded.

“A combination of vitamins D, E and B12. Plus a little iron for good measure. It should help with your fatigue. I suggest a daily infusion. I find it improves general health, especially during winter months”

“I haven’t been fatigued” 

“Your health has lacked its usual shine,” 

She looked at him curiously.

“Your eyes. Your hair.” he waved his hand vaguely, trying to nonchalantly dismiss the subject, without much success. “I thought you might benefit from the blend I use”

“Cabal…?” She asked slowly, with a strange look upon her face.

He straighten, and tried to maintain a noble affectation. 

“Don’t you ever slip me any substances, of any variety, without my knowing, ever again.”


	5. Chess

“that’s private information, Cabal”  
“If it were public, I would not be asking you for it”  
“What I’m saying is, I’m not sure It’s something I can readily share with you”  
“You fear what I might do with such knowledge?”  
“more what you’d call ‘rational concern’,”  
“I give you my word, I have no intention of using it to cause fatality or injury to any persons”  
“What you intend to do and what you actually do are vastly different roads, Cabal”

He shrugged lightly, but did not contradict her.   
She sighed and regarded the chess board as if the answer to her moral conumdrum lay within the pattern of scattered black and white pieces. 

“If I tell you, will you explain to me what you intend to do?”  
“Perhaps. It might be more beneficial for you not to know, least you become suspect as an accomplice”  
Leonie rolled her eyes.  
“That’s hardly reasurring”  
“It wasn’t meant to be, I am speaking from a purely practical standpoint”

She shunted her bishop heavily across the board and frowned. Cabal couldn’t tell if it was the game or his request that furrowed her brow.

“I will not ask you again, Frauline” he said blankly “If you do not wish to tell me, I shall not force you. I only ask you because it would be the most expedient route to my cause. I will not explain further. But if you are worried about repercussions, there is only one question to ask yourself.” His fingers touched his knight, “Do you trust me?”

He tapped his piece into place and took another of her pawns, and heard her curse under her breath, and watched her face carefully for a sign of her decision. 

Leonie sank back into her chair, her eyes never leaving the board. She could feel the weight of his gaze heavy on her, but didn’t trust herself to meet it. She almost wished he wore those ridiculous smoked glasses indoors, because if she looked into that earnest, puppy-at-a-funeral face of his she would be lost. Nothing good ever came of saying ‘yes’ to Cabal, Only trouble. Trouble, and adventure…

Cabal waited patiently, when a certain light flickered in Leonie’s face, and he felt his stomach lurch. He hated that half smile of hers, it meant she knew something he didn’t, and that never boded well. 

“Alright Cabal” she said, (a little smugly, he thought) “I’ll tell you. If...”  
She moved her queen and claimed his bishop.  
“...you can take my rook.”  
Cabal blanked and blinked. He evaluated the board. He had engineered his play to take out her queen (which she used too freely in his opinion) before breaking through her weak defence of the white king and calling check mate. He had been doing well. He had been winning, he had been winning and she knew it. Her challenge changed the board entirely, the little minx. 

Leonie saw his face tense and sensed he was quietly grinding his teeth. Her half smile extended and reached the other side of her face. 

“Fine.” Cabal said tartly, “I agree”

The next few moves were spent chasing empty squares around the board as Cabal desperately tried to rearrange his attack. He sat forward in his chair, hunched over the game table as Leonie topped up their brandy glasses. He straightened his back as he proudly made an aggressive move to place him in the lead, when Leonie snatched his own rook from under him with a pawn of all things. 

She twiddled the little carved castle proudly between her fingers.

“I guess this means, you loose” she smiled.  
“That was not the arrangement” Cabal said from beneath his darkly furrowed brow, obviously sulking.  
“The agreement was the ransom of your rook. We are still in play.”

She tilted her head and smiled winsomely at him 

“I suppose you’re right. However. If my rook is worth something to you, I feel its only fair that I should gain something from yours….”

He narrowed his eyes.   
“What do you want?”  
“Tell me what you’re planning to do with the file if I hand it over to you”  
He shook his head.   
“No. I’ve already said, for you own protection I will not do that.”  
If he didn’t know better, Cabal might have described Leonie's thoughtful pursed lips as a pout.  
“Then give me your cravat”  
“Excuse me?” the randomness of her request startled him out of his grim expression.   
“You heard. Your Cravat. Hand it over.” Leonie repeated as she knocked back the last of the brandy in her glass.   
“You’re being petty...” Cabal observed.   
“So what if I am? You won’t give me what I really want, but I’m still willing to play. So I want your cravat.” She reached across the table and beckoned for him to hand it to her. 

“This is a ridiculous game” Cabal protested  
“You can forfeit any time you like.”

Leonie could see the sharp lines of his jaw flex as Cabal chewed bitterly over his options. If there was one thing he hated more than silly games, it was loosing to Miss Barrow. She was clever. So wonderfully clever, but so was he. And he wasn’t about to give in yet. 

He loosened the black silk around his neck with two sharp tugs, and took some small pleasure in the way Leonie’s eyes widened in surprise as he did so. With a flick of his wrist he deposited the tie into her outstretched hand, and quietly relished the cautious way she folded it into her pocket, as if he’d just passed her a grumpy snake. A wicked thought occurred to him then, and he smiled internally while his face remained tightly set. 

Miss Barrow had flashed the weak spot in her game. This was no longer about the chess board. This was a greater game of wits. She had bet against him, setting himself up against his pride to fail, but by continuing to play he had bested her attack. Now he knew the rules. Now he knew how to win.

Without bothering to adjust his upturned collar, he sank the brandy in his glass and took her knight that was idling in the corner of the board. 

Leonie looked confused. It had been no where her rook.   
He planted the little figure neatly next to his empty glass and declared:  
“Your stocking, madam.”

“I beg your pardon?” It was Leonie’s turn to look utterly lost at the turn of events, and Cabal’s pride glowed within him.

“You have taken my cravat, and now I claim your stocking” He sat back in his chair with a self satisfied smile cut deep across his face. 

Leonie was speechless, and in that moment Cabal didn’t care a jot about the secret file locked in Frank Barrow’s personal bureaux. To have dumbfounded Frauline Barrow was a rare treat.

Leonie stared at Cabal across the table, desperately searching for some reason to argue. Of course she found non. She’d had her childish moment, and to her shock, Cabal had indulged her. She couldn’t twist the rules again. She could forfeit, but she discarded that idea immediately. She refused to back out of a game of her own making. And will that thought steeling her resolve, she reached for her shoelace.

Cabal folded his arms and basked in the glory of watching Miss Barrow fall victim to her own foolishness. This feeling of contentment lasted approximately ten seconds, which was the length of time it took for Leonie to shake her foot from her shoe, and reach for her garter straps.

 

As her hand disappeared under the layers of her pleated tweed skirt, his eyes slipped and he glimpsed the flash of exposed upper thigh. Reflexively they snapped back to her face, but the damage was done. The expanse of smooth pale skin was burned onto his retinas, when he blinked it filled his vision. He felt suddenly very warm about the collar, and reached to adjust his neck tie before he remember in now resided in Barrow’s pocket, and he had to make do with fingering the button on his collar to settle himself. To make matters worse, Miss Barrow now looked utterly composed, as she blindly released the clips on her suspenders. He had seen that same quiet look of concentration on her face before as she had picked a locked door, and he now cursed himself for pairing two images together. This was not a moment he intended to recall, especially when attempting their next break and entry. But his loathed primitive brain appeared to have other ideas. Cabal fancied he heard the sound of elastic snapping and felt it reverberate somewhere down low inside him. Leonie began to roll the stocking down her leg, and as it came into view from under the depths of her skirt, cresting over her knee and down the curve of her calf, he had to look away, least the blush he was desperately trying to fight flood his face entirely. 

Leonie placed the rolled up nylon on the table next to Cabal’s side of the board. He refused to look at it, his eyes still firmly fixed upon the glowing coals in the fireplace, let alone touch it. 

“…Should we continue?” She asked hesitantly.   
“Yes” he replied, still staring at the fire. 

Gingerly, Leonie moved her queen, and took two black pawns. 

“Your cufflinks, sir” She sounded cautious, and his cold blue eyes locked onto hers so suddenly it was like an ice cube down her chemise.

He stood and removed his jacket, folding it neatly in half before draping it over the back of his chair. Leonie wondered if he always undressed with such surgical precision, before her attention was caught up in the nimble workings of his fingers as he worked each cufflink free, first left then right, and dropped the little golden pair into her empty brandy glass. 

Without returning to his seat, or even bothering to turn up the flapping cuffs of his shirt, Cabal reached for a black piece on the board. It didn’t matter which, neither of them were looking at the game any more.

“Your ribbon,” His voice sounded tight, and he slipped his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want to risk Leonie seeing how his palms were beginning to sweat.   
Her hair had been wrangled into a ponytail that morning, but her wilful curls had begun escaping long before now, and it didn’t take much effort for Leonie to slide the blue satin ribbon free and her hair tumbled down. She itched to run her fingers through it, but with Cabal looming over her like a school master, the extra action somehow felt forbidden. When he made no motion to claim his prize, she rose from her chair, and stood lopsidedly, feeling oddly small with only one shoe on. She held out the length of ribbon, but Cabal remained so still she wondered if was still breathing. With a shuffle and click of her uneven feet she took two steps towards him. She was close enough to see the weave in his black wool waistcoat now, and the scuff in the third button down. Hesitantly she moved to place the ribbon into his breast pocket. 

She was slow and careful, ready for him to pull away, but he didn’t. Cabal moved in on her like a storm cloud. 

There had been a few times (perhaps more than a few) when Leonie had a whimsical fancy to imagine what kissing Cabal would be like. She realised now that in each fantasy he had been cold and sterile, like a surgeon’s scalpel. But the mouth upon her now was warm, and the tongue that tried her lips was hot. 

He stumbled against her, unable to catch himself as his hands caught in his pockets.   
She steadied him, and with her hands fitting neatly about his ribs, she found the courage to kiss him back. 

When Leonie opened her mouth to him, Cabal’s entire body ached. Pulling his hands free, he lost them in the tangles of her curls. What had possessed him to do it? He couldn’t say, all logical thought preprocesses had shut down, and he would have been in a blind panic if it wasn’t for her hands on his sides, holding him together, her presence overwhelmed him, the scent of her hair soothed him, every breath they shared weakened him to incoherent churning of primitive urges. He opened his mouth to speak, but she stole his words with a flick of her tongue and reduced him to a groan. His whole body sang for her, and his hands moved to close about her waist, crushing her body to him. He could feel the straight steel lines of her corset through the fabric of her blouse and longed to find the laces, to undo her straight casings as surely as she was undoing his rational mind, to feel the softness of her curves and test the resistance of her flesh. He squeezed her so tight she broke away for breath.

“Cabal,” She gasped, her eyes unfocused, “Johannes...”

Something snapped within him as she spoke his name. The strength left his arms, and pulled back with a look of wide eyed terror, desperately searching her face as if it held the key to piecing himself back together as quickly as she had pulled him part. 

She could still feel the quick rise and fall of her breast straining against her stays as she remained loosely in his embrace, but the look on Cabal’s face was slowly breaking her heart. 

“it’s alright” she whispered, her trembling hand reaching up to touch his cheek. She smoothed the hair from his forehead, and carefully straighten his collar. With every item of clothing she righted and crease she smoothed, Cabal slowly began to come back to himself. As his eyes focused, she smiled up at him. Folding back his loose cuff, she lifted his pale hand to her lips and kissed it. It was perhaps the sweetest gesture of friendship Cabal had known in a long, long time. 

“Should we start over?” Leonie motioned to half finished game.

“No,” said Cabal, and tipped the board over, scattering the remaining pieces to the floor. “Damn the chess”

And he kissed her again.


End file.
